The window, whose curtains he had forgotten to draw, was blue,--blue sky above and the blue of the sea in its lower panes.
He looked around him....

Nobody! For a moment he believed he must have been dreaming, but the sweet perfume of her hair still scented the pillow.

The reality of awakening was as joyous for Ulysses, as sweet as had been the night hours in the mystery of the darkness.

He had never felt so strong and so happy.
In the window sounded a baritone voice singing one of the songs of Naples,--"Oh, sweet land, sweet gulf!..." That certainly was the most beautiful spot in the world.

Proud and satisfied with his fate, he would have liked to embrace the waves, the islands, the city, Vesuvius.
A bell jangled impatiently in the corridor.